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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709219">you're ripped at every edge but you're a masterpiece</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanica/pseuds/cyanica'>cyanica</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>could roses bloom [trans anakin verse] [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hiding Medical Issues, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Hurt Anakin Skywalker, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, LGBTQ Themes, Light Angst, Outing, Protective Ahsoka Tano, Trans Anakin Skywalker, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:48:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,154</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24709219</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanica/pseuds/cyanica</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ahsoka carefully peeled back the warm, bloodied layer of his undershirt, exposing a collection of battle scars littered across his skin like night sky constellations, a makeshift binder made from medical tape and bandages, and molten purplish-blue watercolour bruises across his scarlet flesh that seemed to paint the canvas of Anakin Skywalker together.</p><p>Or Anakin is ftm trans, injured with yet another battle scar like it’s an ordinary tuesday, and Ahsoka finds out his secret, while deciding to be an ally.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anakin Skywalker &amp; Ahsoka Tano</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>could roses bloom [trans anakin verse] [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>222</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you're ripped at every edge but you're a masterpiece</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>or me making up for the lack of clone wars/prequel era trans pride fics that don’t just involve smut, one fic at a time. written because it’s pride month, ftm pride day and why not? this goes out to all my fellow queer bbs.</p><p>ps. anakin binds with bandages, but that is a v dangerous thing to do, so don't do that,, please. he isn’t educated on proper, safe binding (yet). </p><p>i wrote this at 2am instead of sleeping.</p><p>title from ‘colors’ - halsey.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ahsoka, I’m fine! It’s just a graze. I don’t need your...” he waved a hand – the one not currently pressing a handful of gauze to his violently bleeding chest wound – vaguely within the air, gesturing non-committedly, “<em>pestering</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Truly, this was just another ordinary day, and that, in itself, said more than she’d ever need to.</p><p> </p><p>It was quite the nonchalant, casual response Ahsoka expected from her mortally wounded, half-dead master that lay stationed in their makeshift medical hut amongst the ruins in some apocalyptic planet that the galaxy had left to rot in the wake of the war, <em> and </em> that for some <em> insane </em> reason, the Separatists wanted to take control over. </p><p> </p><p>What made the situation typically yet nonetheless even more chaotic – more so than the bombs demolishing the earth from beneath then, and the never-ending firefight outside – was her master putting more effort into avoiding Ahsoka’s attempts to tend to the major injury, than he was into <em>actually tending to it</em>. Leave it up to Skyguy to dismiss what any normal person would deem a life-threatening injury, as ‘just a graze’, she mused, unimpressed. By the surprised, dumbfounded look on Anakin’s face, her own expression definitely showed it. “My <em> ‘pestering’ </em> is just about the only thing currently keeping you from bleeding out, Master!”</p><p> </p><p>“I can take care of it–“ The layers of gauze turned scarlet around their fingers, Anakin desperately trying to push her hands away if they dared move too close to his skin. He seemed to grow more pale and bloodless by the second, and though that was something that terrified her, he didn’t seem to notice the slurring of his words, or the drooping of his eyelids.</p><p> </p><p>Anakin masked the inside of his tunic as Ahsoka lifted the clothing to inspect the wound. His hands gripped down on her own, the echo of a warning, and something fearful whispered throughout the base of her skull from the supernatural essence of a connected psychic link. She wasn’t sure if it was intentional or otherwise, but it made her think.</p><p> </p><p>It was strange, Ahsoka thought. She had only been a padawan for a few months, and yet she knew Jedi were supposed to accept help, weren’t supposed to let themselves die in reckless stubbornness, but this was something different. Anakin Skywalker was something different.</p><p> </p><p>“Master, stop squirming! Lie still, I can’t see what I’m doing!” She tried once again to move his tunic from his chest, only to catch the sight of a wrapped bandage woven and compressed against his body, a bandage that hadn’t been one of the supplies she’d been treating him with. </p><p> </p><p>Before she could say anything at all, he snapped back, “because you don’t <em> know </em> what you’re doing! Just let me do it – <em> argh!</em>” He muffled the pained cry that left his lips with a clenched hand against his mouth as the wound was jarred by his constantly squirming, still so painfully adamant on keeping her eyes away from his flesh as if the contrast would reveal an intimate, exposing truth – the kind of irreversible secret one couldn’t unsee, couldn’t escape from – and paint the image she had of him into something tainted, abominable, <em> wrong</em>.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh, Anakin. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ahsoka was almost, <em> almost </em> tempted to let him have his way – because despite the bravado, desperate facade cracking flaws within Anakin Skywalker’s already imperfect complex of a mask that broke apart at the seams just as the blood seemed to cascade from his body and onto their hands, the earth, the gauze, she could see what lay underneath, what lay beyond. It was the shadow of someone afraid, someone desperate to shield her from something so secretly hidden – just one of the fragmented pieces of her master that she would never be privy to, condemned by the man himself in what she couldn’t recognize as judgment, humiliation, or fear. That thought of not knowing which was worse, paired with his nonverbal pleading expression to just <em> leave it alone </em> made something within her heart twist and freeze over as if ice had drowned her veins and she’d caught the whisper of something intangibly foreign that screamed unacceptance, abandonment, <em> repulsion </em>, through the wavelengths the two shared as one.</p><p> </p><p>Ridding herself of the sudden nausea that felt more like Anakin’s than her own, and the fluctuation of this unintentional, fiery <em> anger </em> that had possessed her for mere moments when the sensation of her master’s emotions of terrified unacceptance flooded her mind, Ahsoka moved to set her hand down on top of his from where his lay upon the tunic that covered the skin of his chest. </p><p> </p><p>“Please, shut up and let me help you.” Her hands were silent, unmoving for the first time, just as his were. The scarlet blood of Anakin’s life force streamed all the same, but only for a moment as she waited for the tiny, subtly nod from her master that seemed as loud as perhaps the entirety of the infinite galaxy itself and flooded their much-too-disapprovingly-strong telekinetic wavelength with rich, unifying, unconditional trust. </p><p> </p><p><em> Okay</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Ahsoka carefully peeled back the warm, bloodied layer of his undershirt, exposing a collection of battle scars littered across his skin like night sky constellations, a makeshift binder made from medical tape and bandages, and molten purplish-blue watercolour bruises across his scarlet flesh that seemed to paint the canvas of Anakin Skywalker together. Each fragmented piece – the constellated scars, both old and new; the smaller, once-disguised frame unburdened by many tunic layers; the binder that concealed the shape of his breasts – all fit together to make up who he was in the most imperfectly perfect of ways, and it was everything. It was enough.</p><p> </p><p>Ahsoka picked up the disinfectant, let the explosions rain down upon the firefight in the distance, and set to work. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re…” Anakin breathed, stunned and shocked in a way that made her heart ache with hurt that she’d never experienced. To him, the sight of Ahsoka saying nothing, unbothered by his secrets, and simply helping him was unfathomable, and <em> Gods</em>, did that make her eyes sting. “You’re not– I mean… This doesn’t –… This doesn’t change anything?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course not, Skyguy.” She whispered back, and though the universe outside was loud and violent and unforgiving, in here, they heard each other amongst the ruins and understood one another all the same. He was still Skyguy: her insanely reckless, impulsive, kind-hearted, compassionate older brother. And she was still Snips: a brash little padawan there to save his life, pick up the pieces, rebuild, and do it all over again because she’d learned from the best.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you.” He breathed the words like they held the weight of the universe, and perhaps, to him, they did. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t needed. But even so, in a softened, faint, inaudible voice that was made of rainbow-hued colourful imagery, intangible psychic symbols and an array of unified, unleashed emotions – the feeling of the Force itself –, she told him:</p><p><br/>
<em> Anytime</em>.</p>
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